Family
by MelGayPet
Summary: Family is what you make of it. Kyle and Fish understand this better than most.
1. Prologue

**A/N: **One of the many things I miss about _One Life to Live,_ and something I felt the show never took full advantage of when it was on, was the quasi-family unit of Layla, Cris, Oliver and Kyle (and Roxy, too!). Once the Sierra Rose story took off, the two couples were isolated from each other and the show seemed to forget they were all very good friends. I think that their lives should always be intertwined. So, a look into the future...

* * *

Layla Williamson Vega stretched, trying in vain to find a comfortable position. "Lord, it's hot. Who thought it was a good idea to do this in the summer, anyway?" She shot an accusatory glare to the man perched on the porch railing. He smiled, dark eyes warm and amused.

"Sorry," he offered with a notable lack of sincerity. She huffed out a breath and shifted again, hoping to ease the ache in her back. The swing she was sitting on creaked loudly and she scowled fiercely. She hardly needed commentary from furniture!

"Last time, we timed it perfectly," she declared irritably, not for the first time. "September to May – no being pregnant in freaking August. This is hell."

"I know," he answered, also not for the first time. "Just a few more weeks."

She growled, low in her throat. A few more weeks was an _eternity_, of course he didn't understand that. Men!

"I'm sorry," he said again, this time with genuine sympathy. He slid off the railing with his most charming smile. "How about a foot rub?"

She forgave him instantly. "Oooh, yes!" She lifted a sore and swollen foot in his direction and wiggled her toes. He grinned and knelt at her feet.

As he massaged, she let her head fall back, eyes closed, and felt some of her tension bleed away. The heat was still oppressive and the cotton of her maternity dress clung damply to her skin, but for the first time in too long she began to relax.

"At least your son is taking it easy today," she murmured, letting her hands rest on her belly, whose occupant did in fact seem to be resting instead of engaging in the usual gymnastics. "I'm pretty sure he's going to be a soccer player like his sister."

He grinned. "She'll love that. It'll do her a world of good to have a sibling. I think it's kind of lonely, being an only child. I know Ol-"

As if in response, the soft babble of little girl voices in the background rose to a high-pitched shriek.

Layla opened her eyes and glared out into the yard, as annoyed by the interruption of her foot massage as with whatever squabble had broken out. "What's going on?" she called.

"She won't let me use the purple!"

"She _broke _it! Dad, look-"

"Everything's fine."

This last was spoken in a much lower register and with much less outrage. From his spot on the grass, "supervising" the huge sidewalk chalk project undertaken by the two girls, Cristian Vega grinned back at those on the porch. "Just an artistic difference of opinion." He laid a hand on his daughter's small shoulder, both to sooth and in case she flung herself at her companion.

"Sierra, your chalk is fine," the older girl's father told her. "You know you need to share." Sierra Rose still looked highly indignant about her broken purple chalk, but subsided at her father's pointed look.

"Okay," she said, a little sulkily. She shoved the largest broken piece across the sidewalk. "Here, you can use it."

Layla eyed her own daughter. Pilar still seemed inclined to either burst into tears or howl with fury, but she picked up the chalk, looked at it suspiciously for a moment, and suddenly transformed into a bubbly toddler again. "Kay!" she cried happily. "Thank you," she added, when Cris prompted her.

Layla leaned back again, ignoring her husband's quirked eyebrow in her direction. She was well aware of his theory on where Pili had inherited her lightning-quick changes in mood, thank you very much. She poked Kyle's calf with her foot. "Hey, what happened to my foot rub?"


	2. Late Night Conversations

"What do you think of 'Benjamin'?" Oliver asked into the dark.

"Hmm?" It took a few seconds for Kyle to comprehend the question. A long, stressful day at work, followed by dinner, an hour of kicking the soccer ball around with Sierra, tucking her reluctantly into her bed, and getting Oliver not-at-all reluctantly into _their_ bed, had left him more than ready for sleep. "Oh. Um. It's okay, I guess."

The rustling and movement beside him suggested Oliver had propped his head up on a fist and was staring down at him. "It's 'okay'? Kyle, he's going to be here in three weeks. It'd be nice if he had a name."

Really, this wasn't fair, Kyle thought. No one should sound that annoyed after such good sex. "He'll have a name. Put 'Benjamin' on the list. Do we have to talk about this now? You're the one with an early shift tomorrow, you know."

Silence. Kyle tried for a second to decide if it was ominous or not, before giving up. He was too sleepy. He had nearly drifted off again, when Oliver said, "It's important."

"Yes, sleep is very important," Kyle told him. "Trust me, I'm a doctor. We're not going to be getting a lot of it when li'l Anonymous gets here, so we should be taking advantage now."

"Important that we pick the right name, I mean. Stacy named Sierra, which, you know, I'm glad, since –" he broke off.

If he was too tired to talk baby names, Kyle decided, he was _definitely_ too tired for a discussion about Stacy Morasco.

"Oliver," he said firmly, rolling over to face his boyfriend and fumbling for his free hand in the dark. "I know. We'll find the perfect name for our son. But not right this minute, okay? Go to sleep."

Oliver sighed heavily, but Kyle felt him relax in capitulation. He flopped back onto the pillow.

"It's important," he said again, very softly.

"I know," Kyle said again, just as softly, and squeezing his hand, went back to sleep.

* * *

"Mama?"

Layla opened her eyes to find Pilar's face inches away from her own. She blinked. Even in the dim light of the bedside clock, she could make out the unhappiness on her daughter's face. "What's wrong, baby? Are you sick?" she whispered, automatically reaching out to lay a hand on Pilar's forehead. Cool, if a little sweaty. "Or did you have an accident?" That still happened occasionally, though far less frequently since Pilar's third birthday. Layla slid one foot back, preparing to give Cris a gentle kick. Changing sheets in the middle of the night was _not_ her job when she was this big and uncomfortable.

Pilar shook her head decidedly. "I had a bad dream."

"Oh? What about?"

She hesitated. Her lower lip trembled, before being caught with tiny teeth. Finally, she burst out, "Bad people came an' hurt you an' took the baby away!"

"Oh, sweetie." It took some doing, but Layla managed to shove herself up into a sitting position and pull Pilar onto the bed next to her. "It was just a dream," she said into her riot of curls, rocking her slightly as she buried her face in her mother's neck. "No one is going to hurt me or the baby."

"Or take 'im away?" Pili whimpered.

"Or take him away. He's going to be born in just a few weeks and then go home with Uncle Kyle and Uncle Oliver. Everything's going to be just fine, I promise."

Making soothing noises, Layla gradually felt the little body relax as Pilar calmed down. She was about to suggest a return to her own bed, when the little girl pulled back to look her in the face. "Mama?"

"What?"

"Seera says the baby's gonna be her little brother an' not mine."

Layla sighed internally. Soothing away nightmares was one thing, she didn't think she was quite up to this level of discussion at this time of night. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder. Cris lay unmoving, breathing evenly.

"Um, Sierra's right, honey. Remember, we talked about this? This is Uncle Kyle and Uncle Oliver's baby."

"It's not fair," Pilar sounded aggrieved. "I want a little brother. Can we get one, Mama?"

"Uh…" Layla ran a hand over her face. She narrowed her eyes at a tiny sound behind her. Had Cristian's breathing changed? "Not right now. We'll talk about that later, okay?"

Pilar seemed to accept that answer for the moment. Knowing her daughter's determination, Layla didn't have much hope that she'd forget about it entirely. She raised an eyebrow as she watched her curl up next to Cris. "I think it's about time you got back to bed, baby girl."

"I wanna stay with you. Mama? Why is Unca Kyle an' Unca Oliver's baby in _your_ tummy?"

Layla recognized a diversionary tactic when she heard one, but what the hell, she was tired. She lay back down, Pilar snuggled securely between her and Cris. "You know why. The baby needs a safe place to grow until it's big enough. Remember?"

"An' only girls can do that." Even in the dark Layla could see those tiny eyebrows draw together in consideration. "Can I have a baby in my tummy?"

Cristian's breathing definitely changed _that_ time. "Not for a very long time," Layla said firmly. "Only grown-up women can have babies." Hopefully.

"Okay," her voice was sleepy and with the suddenness of toddlers, she was asleep. Layla listened to her soft breaths for few minutes to be sure, then hissed, "You were a lot of help!"

A low chuckle. "You had all the answers, babe. Just like always." Layla snorted softly, but when he reached a hand out across their daughter, she slid her fingers through his.


	3. Encounters

**A/N: **Or maybe a more apt term would be "author's confession? Not that anyone would or should care about my writing "process," such as it is, but I don't write with an outline or even in a straight line. I write individual scenes, usually with a general idea of where things are going and where they fit but sometimes not, and piece them all together later. This works well for me in my original fiction, because I don't let anyone else see it until I'm done. This story, on the other hand, is much more of an experiment for me, what with writing in chronological order and posting chapters for public consumption without knowing in detail where the story is going. It's exciting, but nerve-wracking. So, if you feel that my story is meandering all over the place, well, you're probably right. Reviews, as always, are incredibly welcome. On with it!

* * *

Layla Williamson's day was going well.

She gazed with proprietary satisfaction around her small boutique. Open for six weeks now, the rush of ownership had not faded. _Designs by Layla_ read the curving, eye-catching logo she and Cristian had designed together. Abstract art graced the walls (all original Vegas, of course) and the center display featured the _Exposed_ line of maternity lingerie. A picture of Layla herself rose above the display, smiling with suggestive confidence, her hands on her curved belly. The actual Layla unconsciously replicated the gesture. It was during her pregnancy with Pilar that she and Adriana had designed the maternity line. She had demurred at first when Adriana suggested she model their new line herself, but truthfully, it hadn't taken much convincing. She had never felt so healthy, strong, and yes, _sexy_, than during her first pregnancy.

Unlike this one. Layla squinted down at her belly with affectionate resignation. Nausea and exhaustion had plagued her throughout the pregnancy, while they had been only the barest suggestions during her previous one. And despite her OB's (and Kyle's) repeated assurances that she was not carrying twins, the massive size of her belly was faintly alarming.

She had blamed the baby's sex for her discomfort. "Only a boy would cause this much trouble," she declared to the men in her life with perfect illogic.

_Enough._ Layla brought her mind sternly back to the present. It had been far from easy to open her own boutique despite feeling so frequently unwell, but she had prevailed. It was all hers.

True, she could do with a few more customers, but she had a plan. With a nod at Mercedes at the register, she slipped into her tiny back office and dialed a number.

"Hello," she said. "I'd like to speak to Blair Cramer, please."

An article in _Craze _would be just the thing to garner _Designs by Layla_ more attention.

* * *

Roxanne Balsom's day was going great.

The Angel Square Hotel and Foxy Roxy were both doing a booming business, the hot young thing working at the liquor store had definitely been giving her the eye, there were rumors that _Fraternity Row _was going to be revived online, and she was spending some time with two of her favorite people.

"Whaddya think?" She asked Sierra Rose and Liam. "Ice cream?"

Yells of glee was her answer and she grinned. Once the three of them had each chosen their flavor (an involved process) and had wandered over to sit at the feet of the angel of Angel Square, Roxy thought she might burst with happiness. There was another reason this was a great day and she had to tell somebody.

"Hey, kiddoes, "she asked around licks of mint chocolate chip. "Can you keep a secret?"

Sierra's face, smeared slightly with black cherry, lit up. "Sure we can! We love secrets! Right, Liam?" Liam looked more wary, as usual. He stuck the tip of a chocolate-covered tongue out the side of his mouth, but nodded in agreement with Sierra, also as usual. The sunlight hit the red highlights in his chestnut hair. Roxy couldn't figure how Natty had ended up with such a quiet kid, but then there was Johnny Mac to think of. Or really not, since he hadn't bothered to see the kid in years. She pushed thoughts of her former tenant away. This was a happy day.

"Okay," she whispered. "But remember, you can't tell anyone yet." She leaned forward conspiratorially.

They promised (or Sierra promised and Liam agreed) and leaned forward as well.

* * *

Jamie Vega's day was going terribly.

It was so _boring_ in Llanview. Nothing ever happened here. It was especially boring working in her abuela's diner every day. If her father had to send her somewhere for the summer – which he totally didn't, she was absolutely old enough to take care of herself while he worked on his top-secret project or whatever – why couldn't it be to Paris with Tia Adriana? Or better yet, Chicago with her granddad?

Jamie scowled as cleared the plates from a corner booth. The tension between her father and grandfather was so old and such a constant that she didn't much question it, but it was ridiculous. Her granddad was awesome, and she hadn't seen him in forever. She tugged at a handful of tiny braids in annoyance. Grandad wouldn't make her be a waitress, she was sure. Especially not in some old diner where jerks left a dollar tip for a fifteen dollar breakfast. _And _crumbs all over the place. People were gross, she thought as she wiped down the booth. If she had to work, why couldn't it be in Aunt Layla's new shop? That was a family business, too, after all.

Not that she didn't love Abuela, Jamie thought, glancing over her shoulder at the counter where Carlotta was chatting with a platinum-haired customer and fussing over the two little kids with her. It was that weird lady who ran the motel. Realizing she was unobserved, she slumped into the booth, the better to sulk.

She did love Abuela. But she treated Jamie like she wasn't any older than the little blonde girl she was handing an ice-cream cone to. She wouldn't even let her out after dark. It was worse than living with her dad. She was fifteen, not a baby!

Jamie was so involved in her own thoughts that she didn't even register the presence at her shoulder at first. When she did, she jumped up guiltily, thinking Carlotta had come over to scold her for not doing her job.

"Excuse me," a very male, very British voice said. "But is this booth taken?"

She stared. He was _gorgeous. _Tall, lean, with soulful dark eyes, and dark hair brushed artfully to the side. He glanced quickly over one shoulder. Abuela was still busy with the ice cream buying trio. "I wouldn't hurry you," he said apologetically. "But this booth seems to offer a measure of privacy?"

'Privacy' prounounced with a short 'i.' It was too delicious. Jamie suddenly became conscious of her stained apron and the tub of dirty dishes on the table. Hot blood rushed to her face. Thanking God that her skin tone generally didn't reveal her blushes, she stammered, "Of course! Here, just let me get this out of your way and I'll bring you back a menu."

Taking the dishes back to the kitchen, she dumped the tub by the sink and paused, hoping to calm her racing heart a little. Smoothing her hair, she took a deep breath and headed back in, snatching a menu on the way.

"Here you go," she said. "What can I get you?"

"Um, just ice water, I think," he said, fiddling with a silver ring on his thumb. She tried not to sigh at the sound. Bringing him the water, she belatedly introduced herself. "I'm Jamie, by the way. Are you sure you don't want anything to eat?"

"No, thank you," he said, giving her a slight smile and turning his attention to his water glass.

"Not from around here, I guess" she ventured, wanting to keep him talking.

"My fam – uh, no."

"What's your name?" she asked more directly.

He looked back up, seeming a little startled. "Zane." He winced, as if he hadn't meant to say that.

Jamie was falling more ridiculously in love by the syllable, but she didn't miss that, or his nervous, furtive behavior since coming in. He was hiding something, maybe on the run. She gazed around the diner. The hotel lady and her kids were gone and Abuela had disappeared too, probably in the back. She slipped into the booth.

Zane stared at her in obvious surprise. "So, Zane," she said, "what's your story?" She gave him her best, brightest, killer smile. He actually blushed, his fair skin showing it easily. Jamie thrilled at the sight. This day was definitely starting to look up.

* * *

Oliver Fish's day could have been going better.

"I'm fine," he insisted. "It's barely a scratch. Just wrap it-"

"There's a risk of infection," the paramedic insisted right back. "You need to go to the hospital and get it checked out."

"I can do that later – Commissioner!" Fish jumped to his feet at the sight of his boss, gauze trailing from his bleeding arm. Ignoring the paramedic's cry of protest, he reported, "McGowan's in custody."

"Good. What happened to you?"

He and the paramedic spoke over one another.

"McGowan resisted, nicked me with his knife -"

"Officer Fish has a laceration three inches long and is refusing to go to the hospital –"

Bo raised his eyebrows, then lowered them again.

"You misunderstood," he said to the paramedic, but looking pointedly at Fish. "Officer Fish knows protocol and would never refuse medical attention for an injury incurred on duty."

"Sir," Fish protested, nobly ignoring the _so there_ expression on paramedic's face. "It's not serious. I need to book McGowan and write my report –"

"The report can wait and Hunter can book him, unless you think he can't handle it."

As a matter of fact, Fish had his doubts about Hunter, but this was hardly the time or place to air them; with Bo glaring at him with gruff concern, Paramedic Tattletale's ears flapping, and Hunter himself just yards away, leaning against the squad car with a self-satisfied, insouciant air. As if he'd done a damn thing to take McGowan down other than show up a full thirty seconds after Fish had managed to get the cuffs on the repeat convenience store robber in this filthy alley, while bleeding freely.

"No, sir," he said reluctantly. "But I'm really fine. I think-"

"Hospital, Fish. Get checked out and then get back to the station. We'll need that report." With that, Bo walked off in Hunter's direction. Fish glared after him, then switched the glare to the paramedic. Lisa, that was her name.

"Fine," he grumbled. "But I'm riding in front."

It wasn't that he intended to _hide_ anything, Oliver thought, scanning the ER, clutching a prescription for an antibiotic in his uninjured hand. Obviously Kyle would notice the shallow slice on his arm. It just wasn't necessary to alarm him unnecessarily by showing up, blood-stained and dirty, at the hospital. Much better to show off his now neatly-stitched wound at home, having showered and changed. After working his full shift, which proved, Fish silently pointed out to an imaginary Kyle, that it wasn't serious. Kyle could fuss a little bit, he conceded, but really, he should mostly be impressed that Oliver had chased down and collared a violent offender by himself (as Hunter took a leisurely stroll, apparently). Right?

"Right," he agreed aloud, as he handed the prescription over to the hospital pharmacist. The man looked startled for half a second before going off to fulfill it. He no doubt saw stranger things.

After another quick glance assured him his partner was nowhere in sight, Oliver slumped wearily against the wall. Another benefit to his preferred telling-Kyle scenario, he admitted, was that it gave _him _time to calm down. With the adrenaline wearing off, he was definitely feeling a little shaky. Plus, his arm was starting to hurt now.

"It's barely a scratch," he told himself, Kyle, and also the pharmacist, who gave him a paper bag with his pills in it, along with a professionally-cheery, "Glad to hear it!"

"Uh, thanks," he said, flushing, and hurried off toward the nearest door. Great, now he was talking to himself in public. The day could only get better from here, he reasoned. At least he'd managed to avoid -

"Nngh!" Rounding a corner, Oliver couldn't quite suppress a grunt of pain as he collided with someone. Clutching his arm, he stared at the familiar figure in a white coat, pain temporarily forgotten.

"Oh, I'm so sor-" The other man's automatic apology broke off suddenly, as his features took on the same expression of shocked recognition that Oliver felt spreading across his own face. "Fish?"

"Schuyler Joplin?"


	4. Not Quite Information Sharing

**A/N: **Okay, I have to apologize for this very short chapter, in which ... nothing happens. I do have more written for this story, but it's some fun, dramatic stuff that goes down later on and I'm having some trouble filling in what happens from here to there. Writing in chronological order is hard! However, I wanted to update with SOMETHING, so here you go.

* * *

Kyle yawned hugely, hearing an audible pop in his jaw. He reflexively reached for his coffee and took a gulp. Then he grimaced and coughed. The coffee was cold. He groaned and rose laboriously to his feet, only to find the coffee pot empty. Scowling, he looked around the small lounge, but at the moment he was the only one there. Rubbing his eyes, he decided that the small comfort of knowing who to blame was not worth the mental effort required to recall which of the many doctors or nurses that had breezed through in the past hour might have emptied the pot and not refilled it. Grumbling under his breath, he started a new pot.

Kyle was not a morning person. Not that he was a stranger to early mornings, medicine and parenthood had both conditioned him to function at ungodly hours with very little sleep, but that didn't mean he liked them. Getting up, he tended to be cranky and reluctant.

Oliver, naturally, was a morning person. He _enjoyed_ rising early to greet the day, all bright-eyed and chipper. Kyle had known that within a month of meeting him. At the time – and here he could only blame the rosy fog of youthful infatuation – he had found it _cute. _Years later, confronted with an Oliver who could admit to his parents, his fellow cops, and international news that he was gay, Kyle was older and arguably wiser, and he figured he could reconcile himself to life with a morning person.

Little had he known, he was actually reconciling himself to life with _two _morning people. Sierra Rose took after Oliver in a dizzying number of ways, including that one. Having a hyper mini-Oliver bursting in in the wee hours to interrupt his sleep or, worse, the one early-morning activity he preferred to sleeping – and hadn't _that_ been a hell of a morning, he'd never seen Oliver turn that particular shade of crimson – was a pain in the butt, no matter how adorable she was. Adorable and brilliant. Sierra was now old enough to understand she needed to knock before going in her dads' room, but she was also old enough to get up early and do things like take the Z-Box apart to "see how it worked." Kyle felt safe in blaming Oliver for that, too.

Buoyed by caffeine, Kyle was pleasantly occupied with thoughts of how Lewis DNA might manifest itself in the new baby – perhaps a sane attitude towards mornings – when the door swung open and one of the residents, Dr. Diya Sawhney, walked in. She dumped an armload of files on the table, causing them to slide and scatter from their stack. She didn't appear to notice. "Slow day so far. I'm so bored! What I wouldn't give for a multi-car pile-up right now. Do I smell fresh coffee?"

Kyle waved at the coffee pot. "You're still a resident. Trust me, after you've been working in the ER for years, you'll pray for slow days."

She looked doubtful, but nodded. "If you say so, Dr. Lewis. Still, I'd like to do more than wrap sprained ankles - not even broken! Sprained! Lancaster at least got to stitch up somebody's arm today. She said he was cute, too."

"I'm sure you'll have plenty of chances to stitch up cute arms," Kyle said dryly. "What's with the files?"

"Oh!" she looked startled, then embarrassed. "Sorry. Those are the files for the med students starting their ER rotation next week. Chief of Staff wanted you to look through them, since you'll be supervising."

"Great," he said. "Thanks for bringing them to me, but you better get back to the ER. Who knows, there might be a multi-car pile-up happening _right now_."

Sawhney visibly perked up at the thought and rushed out, tossing a "Yes, Dr. Lewis!" over her shoulder. Shaking his head, he eyed the files with reluctance. Truthfully, he'd prefer a good, bloody emergency himself over reading the boring files of a crop of overeager med students. With a sigh, he picked one at random and was about to open it, when his phone buzzed. Reading the ID, he smiled. "Hey, you. Miss me already?"

_"You're not gonna believe who I'm in the coffee shop with right now."_

Kyle furrowed his brow. Oliver was speaking in a hissed whisper and he sounded … not freaked out, exactly, but halfway there. "What?"

_"Did you know he was back? Please don't tell me you knew and didn't say anything."_

"And again I say, 'what?' Who are you talking about?"

_"How did he even get out, let alone be back working at the hospital? Are you sure you didn't know?"_

"Um, Oliver? You want to let me in on this conversation?"

_"Crap, he's coming back with the coffee. I'll find out what I can and call you later, okay? Love you."_

The call disconnected. Kyle stared at his phone, utterly baffled.


	5. Coffee Talk

**A/N: **It's slow going, but I haven't given up! I think this would actually work better as part of the previous chapter, but it's past time I updated, so. Maybe when I'm finally finished with the whole story, I'll combine the two. Enjoy and feedback is always welcome!

* * *

Oliver set his phone down on the table and smiled as Schuyler Joplin sat down opposite him, aiming for casual. Judging from Joplin's wary expression, he missed. Glad for a distraction, he grabbed the cup of coffee Joplin pushed across the table and took a large swallow. "Ow, dammit!"

Joplin chuckled and seemed to relax a little. Oliver felt some of his own tension slip away and he smiled more genuinely, despite what he was sure was third-degree burns on his tongue. "Yeah, that's exactly what I needed. This day just keeps getting better."

Joplin's small smile faded and he seemed to shrink slightly, lowering his eyes to his own coffee cup. Oliver mentally kicked himself. Unwilling to let an uncomfortable silence settle back in, he forged ahead, "So, how long have you been back in Llanview?" _How long have you been out of prison?_

Joplin answered the unspoken question. "I was released about six months ago. I've been staying in Chicago with a friend. I actually just got into Llanview last night."

"To visit Roxy?" Oliver prompted, knowing there had to be more to it. That white coat…

Joplin blinked. "No. Well, yeah, I'm glad to see her – I'm staying at the Angel Square Hotel, but…" he trailed off, then straightened, as if bracing himself. "I'm starting my residency at Llanview Hospital," he said, in a firmer tone.

Oliver took a careful sip, trying to think of something to say. _Why the hell would they hire a junkie ex-con _and _why in God's name would you come back here_ seemed kind of rude, under the circumstances, but damned if he could think of anything else.

Joplin gave him a shrewd glance and Oliver was pretty sure he knew what he was thinking.

"I was actually able to get a lot of my coursework done in prison and I finished med school in Chicago. Of course, not a lot of hospitals wanted to hire me. But I guess Bo Buchanan vouched for me."

Oliver hastily lowered his coffee, thankful it hadn't actually made it to his mouth. He was sure he would've choked and sputtered. "_Bo _vouched for you?"

Joplin flushed. "Yeah. He's been great, actually. He talked to the parole board, too, and I think that's why I was released so early. He understands that I wasn't trying to shoot him –" he broke off.

_You were trying to shoot Rex, _Oliver finished mentally. Aloud, he said, "Bo is a good man."

"Yeah," Joplin said hastily, clearly eager to pass over that bit of awkwardness. "And Rachel – that's my friend – really helped there. I don't know what I would've done without her, actually. Rachel's Bo's stepdaughter," he added, as Oliver's brow knitted.

"Right," he nodded. "Well, that's great. I'm really glad you're getting your life on track, man." He was. But did it have to be in Llanview?

"So, what about you?" Joplin asked. "I can see you're still with the LPD. What happened to your arm?"

Oliver shrugged, a little thrown by the change of subject. "A scuffle with a suspect. Nothing serious."

"Oh. Good. So, um, you still with Kyle?"

Oliver narrowed his eyes. Joplin was looking at his coffee cup again, both hands wrapped around it, running his thumb along the rim, voice just a little too casual. "Yeah. We're great. We,uh, bought a house a few years back. In Angel Square."

Joplin nodded in response, not looking up. Well, hell. Schuyler Joplin wasn't the only one who could hear what wasn't being said. Before he could think better of it, Oliver grabbed his phone. With a few quick taps, he brought up what he wanted and held the phone out across the table. Hesitantly, Joplin took it and stared at the picture on the screen. Cris had taken it just a few days ago. It showed Kyle and Oliver sitting on their porch swing, Sierra Rose sandwiched between them, all three grinning widely at the camera.

Joplin stared at the phone for a long minute. Oliver could see his Adam's apple move as he swallowed. "Wow," he said at last, in a raspy whisper. "She's gotten so big."

"Yeah." Oliver firmly suppressed the urge to snatch his phone back. "She's tall for her age – got my height, I guess," and if that came out a little pointed, so be it.

Finally, Joplin handed him the phone. He caught Oliver's eye. "Thank you, Fish" he said quietly.

Oliver nodded and stood up abruptly, shoving his phone into a pocket. Joplin's eyes widened – with surprise or dismay, he couldn't tell and didn't want to. "I gotta get back to work. Good luck, Schuyler." With that, he left, as quickly as he could.


End file.
